Gibson's Diary
by Red Okami writer -Jiseru
Summary: A diary from Gibson, typed day-by-days from the laptop on the floor, obviously if he were human, as he goes through a series of eventful happenings, some that should not to be impacted by the youngest member in the household... Rated T to be safe.
1. April 19

****

This is Gibson's diary, obviously if he were a human.  
This is the first time in a long time I had written anything here. I certainly hope you enjoy it...

April 19

Faint, muffled music pounds gently with rhythm. Various birds squack and tweet to outbeat the music exploding from the neighbor's boasting cars. Once or twice a quick zoom would run through my window, as I sit on the floor or lie on the bed.

A book, _The Time Traveller_ from a man by the name of K.E. Stells sits idly beside me as my fingers tap and press at random keys to perform words onto the screen.

I am so tired; exhausted, even, for thinking about nothingness. Simple, blissed, almost-nothingness.

Or is it nothingness?

I turn the sterio repeatedly on and off, hearing it click with bright, lively music and then die almost instantly with another clack.

At first, I admit, I disdained Mandarin seemingly for always judging me, telling me what and what not to do as I entered into the irritating stage of adolescence. I also always hated how he seemed to always have an answer to every of my little, sometimes outrageous statements that at first seemed so logical to me.

But, I always greatly dispised how he was right.

So on the target.

So realistic.

So very, very right.

I slam my head back against the quite newly refurnished furniture and stare at the computer, the laptop that is _so _conveniently on the floor while my desk is still boxed. A new way for me to write down my thoughts; somewhat like a diary?

For a while I can't stop thinking.

For a while I even forget what time it is, and wonder what to do next.

And then, I glance back down at the book, _The Time Traveller_.

Not likely.

****


	2. April 20

****

****

April 20

It's so quiet now. No tweeting birds, no horrendous, irritating rap music, no kids shrieking and laughing in the streets.

The only thing I hear is the click clack of the keyboard and the soothing, cool hum of the fan that whirls in everlasting circles on my ceiling.

I look out at the dying tulips in front of my window. A dead rose drooped sadly from the middle.

And then, out the window, are the trees waving viciously against the wind. Dark, gloom and doom clouds invade the neighborhood of Brooklyn Avenue. The sky looks so gray and blue.

I think it looks lovely.


	3. April 21

Again, not much noise except the Elvis music playing from the tiny, broken stereo Otto lent me. Mine had been demolished when it fell out my window. Otto's stereo is probably worse off than mine, but I'm just glad to have some music. He promised to fix my stereo, as it seems that he can repair mechanisms such as that.  
All the clouds from behind the mountains are heading North. It's all blue clashing with blue, and a cottony white and gray cloud hanging around dimly, as if it didn't want to be there.

The once fresh, red rose in the tiny, clear vase is still decaying quietly.

* * *

The use of trying to hide myself from my own computer is... definitely both idiotic and pathetic.

Schooling went absolutely horrendous today. Mandarin shelters the five of us, nurtures us, and even going as far as educating us.  
I appreciate his wisdom, I really do, it's just he not only gives us the facts... he gives us his opinions as well.

Mandarin's thoughts on certain subjects are indeed interesting. However, I did not share the same beliefs as he does.

I pointed out some facts found in some ancient, yellowing books I had found in the basement before class. He gazed at me rather coldly and began to speak to me as icily, yet genious, as a few days before. His knowledge astounded me.

I had never felt so low and idiotic in my entire life; not from the orphage or the public schools I had attended.

Kevin, the class clown, or "Sprx" as he prefers it, had made it much worse with some comments once class was over. Nova, our dependant female, made him stop by punching him fiercely on the arm. Otto, the gentle-hearted mechaninc, tried to make me laugh by tripping over some books Mandarin had left on the floor, but my lips didn't so much move an inch, or at least I made sure of that. Antauri, the second oldest and second wisest among us, instructed me to relax and view Mandarin's teachings as a sort of experiance. He also advised that I treat Mandarin as humbly as I could muster; after all, he's taking care of five orphans when he needs to care for himself, as he is pretty young too.

But no one, _no one_, ever felt as idiotic as I did that evening.

Feeling like an idiot feels like the different, drooping rose among all the other yellow, also dying tulips. Feeling like an idiot feels like being alone, like the cloud, and the dark, crispy rose. Feeling like an idiot feels like the desperate and pathetic longing to tell anyone, _anyone, _about what I feel.

But, as with the book from a few days ago, the chances of that happening are-?

Right.

__

Not likely.


	4. April 24

**April 24**

Homework never seizes to amaze me... or tire me.

A fat packet of Algebra waits patiently on my bed, waiting to be completed. Honestly; I think Mandarin does this to torture me for what I had done a few days ago.

It's a very, very sunny blue afternoon. The wind blows ferociously at the trees. I could hear Sprx chasing Otto for who-knows-what. Something about a hamburger.

Well, then, Mr. Algebraic Equations, onto you then.


End file.
